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quick_and_insane_thoughts
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pete
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i noticed a girl in class today whose features reminded me of another.
everything was mixed in my mind, she sat on the far side of the lecture hall, down two rows.
a few times i thought she was looking at me too.
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050919
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pete
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another, who i recongized when i met her from the grad bar where we exchanged glances a few times, when i met her seemed even more familiar. today she was sitting in my seat in class.
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050919
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pete
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she was waiting for the girl we're trying to set my roomate up with, to go to the gym, when we got to the lounge. the make up of the room put me between two conversations with another roomate's girlfriend, where we sat, joining one and then the other. i kept matching eyes and face in my mind, tracing outlines in the light of facial impressions. less worrisome than the others, casual and fit.
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050920
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pete
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the second, overwhelming, i hear her words, feel her lips. it's been less than half an hour since she left. the party's over. i tingle softly, differently. her words echo. the kisses last. i exhale, again.
the minute of another. 3.33.
i'm still overwhelmed. i look forward to when we meet again, holding the memory to my dreams.
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050924
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pete
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i found her ring beside my bed the day after the party, breathing out, called her, and made the first arrangements. i saw her yesterday twice, briefly both times, once in passing in the tunnels, forced by the herd behind me onwards, smiling as she did. again between the class we share and one we don't, returning the ring, making further plans to be enjoyed tomorrow after class. dinner at my work, friendly territory (but not really, as i don't know the dining room at all), mostly free (discount plus favours owed), and comfortable.
i'm quivering on the inside, nervous and content.
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050927
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pete
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because it went so well, the poem of the title (by petrarch, of course, from the rime sparse, number 189):
"my ship full of forgetful cargo sails
through rough seas at the midnight of a winter
between charybdis and the scylla reef,
my master, no, my foe, is at the helm;
at each oar sits a quick and insane thought
that seems to scorn the storm and what it brings;
the sail, by wet eternal winds of sighs,
of hopes and of desires blowing breaks;
a rain of tears, a mist of my disdain
washes and frees those all too weary ropes
made up of wrong, entwined with ignorance.
hidden are those two trusty signs of mine;
dead in the waves is reason as is skill,
and i despair of ever reaching port"
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050929
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pete
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casual and fun, nowhere near as intense (or depressing) as the poem.
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050929
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pete
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we sang in hushed voices together to my music as it shuffled through a half sleepy, half energetic playlist. i smiled when she knew so many of the songs, loving the ones i enjoyed the most, talking of covers and colours and books and holding the other close in the twilight of the enclave.
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051004
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pete
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procrastanting from the work i need to do, wondering how much time we'll have when she returns again.
it's new year's eve. we pretended it was midnight, tonight, weeks ago in the middle of the day. just to be sure we didn't miss it.
not so much a unified experience tonight, not yet anyways, though i doubt unity will come as the rye enter's my blood, the smoke, my lungs.
i question that. a weak of absolute sobriety always leaves a mark. a move from the empties and ashes that punctuate the weeks and months in ways without comprehension (in ways more pleasurable when shared, though less notable than the sober, endless nights and lingering mornings).
a change, perhaps, long coming, indeed it was, but finally here. soon to be here again, i should say, though i'm the one that moved to this city, not the other way around.
the city i live in, this city of words, this frigid, frozen, celebrating city of government and high technology. this place, which, for a time atleast, has become home until, again as we know it will come, i leave to forge a new way in the snow.
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051231
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pete
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the blanket fell heavy as i walked to campus yesterday to prepare for tomorrow's seminar (thinking, all the while of tomorrow's vote and where the 'x' will go on the ballot). the trees hang heavy, whitened, blessed by the wintry spirit's warmest embrace.
it's been four months since i left my nineteenth year behind, waking wonderfully into my third decade. the time we've spent in these past four months, near five since those first cusory glances, plays clearly to your question: "who'd have thought it'd turn out like this?"
it did, and i'm happy it did. it's a strange world when loves come unbid, though blest, into fruition in the first days of fall. now that winter is visibly upon us, again--perhaps for real this time, i can smile in the blinding warmth of these cloudy days and envision being wrapped up close in the world we create through our presense.
simply, a lot has changed since moving to this city. more, it seems (and for the better), in the last four months. through the darkest enforced classes, reminiscent of highschool's innaity, the light has always remained focused.
intellectually i consent to your otherness, my dear; emotionally i speak clearly my love; passionitly i wish the kiss never ends.
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060122
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pete
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this seventh month is moving quickly, quickly and slipping away into the summer that threatens to arrive even now months early. some of the lingering problems of timeframes have been postponed to more mutually outlined times, when positions can be plotted and lives thus constructed.
there really isn't much to say, but i felt the need to update, to let myself acknowledge what i've come to love in myself and her over these past months. as wishy washy as it all is, love is not a public thing and seems ridiculous (at times) when it tries to step out of its private home between those who share it.
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060412
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pete
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thought from one year, one month, and seventeen days: i think that whenever it would have ended, it would have always have had felt like too soon. i don't really have much to say. but i wanted to say something. it doesn't so much hurt as it feels hollow in my direction seeking part. as poetic as that is.
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061114
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pete
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a violent dream killed what lingered, and her physical departure came on time. that i let it linger for so long, consciously and unconsciously, is something i cannot and do not care to explain. what remains will always do so, what has passed has passed.
unlike petrarch, the namer of this thread, my love is not immortal. it dies bloody and brutal deaths when left untended. it blossoms when provided with the nourishment it needs. most of all it can be reborn again and again and again.
that said, that thought, that typed, i've been having more quick and insane thoughts again. the dream that marks the end marks the beginning. the old way of thinking and loving has faded away and a new light has risen from that night.
quick and insane, passing fancies imagined, though some pass while wished to be more than passing. And of course the new memories, days old at best, are treasured and hoped to be expanded with new ones. though i will not be crushed if my crushes are for all for nothing.
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070108
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pete
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these words stand in the place of an image that i can't quite capture in my mind, as it exists without sight but captures wholly how i stand in. it deserves its place, though it must go unplaced as it is beyond placibility.
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070208
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z
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ineffable.
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070208
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pete
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a frozen goodbye, too cold for a kiss, though it's true:it's never too cold for a kiss; but that's besides the point. a frozen goodbye, standing still on the corner, almost at her place, a few blocks from where the bus would come to take me home. i can't say that i regret now turning, i turned too late, i can't say i regret that, it's probably for teh best, but who knows what the best is until the worst befalls us all? too frozen for a kiss, tentative, tentative, slightly more sober, working our way forward, tentative. gods damn. but, what gods are there but gods, those flashing orange gods. it was too cold to kiss, who knows where this'll go.
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070211
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klairchen
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some frozen kiss,
has sealed my heart,
into some sort of suitcase,
full of pretty things,
never to be worn...
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070211
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pete
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where that went is known and past, slightly awkward, slightly bitter, left standing in the slush and snow. but that's a thought for another night, a night passed drinking and a night ended late in the morning.
this is a different night, one of tentative steps without such a great chance for misgivings, for those falls. unspeaking, but thinking. unthinking, but feeling.
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070419
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Twitch
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there have been a few times where i have amused myself with the idea that the government could trace my thoughts.
So I think different thoughts...to lead them off...but i mean i don't really believe that...
no way.
why would I type this?
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070420
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